


Kindlings

by NoiraKai



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:59:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoiraKai/pseuds/NoiraKai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Encke is a Prince. Abel is a concubine. We're not quite sure what Cain is, but as in any universe, he's trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coreaneggroll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreaneggroll/gifts).



> This story is somehow related to Embers, so that's why I'm calling it Kindlings. The story started out as like the story of Cain and Encke's roleplaying when they were doing BDSMey stuff, but then it just went its own way.

Once upon a time, there was a very handsome young Prince named Encke. And he was incredibly wealthy, but generous and kind. Encke had a vast and beautiful palace, and his favorite activity was spending time therein with his many stunning concubines. The Prince had both male and female companions, but his favorite above all, was a radiant blond named Abel. And he made sure that everyone knew it. Encke gave Abel the most ornate gold jewelry, and the finest silk tunics, and adorned him with every kind of gift. He truly delighted in his company, for besides being a wonderful lover, Abel was wise, and challenged the Prince’s thinking, giving him excellent advice about matters of the court and the kingdom. It was even rumored, that perhaps the Prince planned to marry Abel, and make him his Princess.

But even as much as the Prince loved Abel, he still took a good amount of pride in having the largest and most beautiful harem in all of the known world. And he managed to accomplish this, while still allowing his concubines to be free people. He would buy them as slaves, but after introducing them to the palace, and feeding and clothing them, he would tell them they were free to leave. He would even offer to give them money for traveling, or to start a new life somewhere in the city. But he took such good care of them, that the vast majority chose to stay.

One day, Encke decided that it was time for him to welcome a new companion into his household. So he donned his city clothes — not too fancy, but not too common — and went down to the slave market on the outside edge of the city wall. It grieved the Prince to see all of the people in chains, and long since, he had vowed that when he became King, he would make slavery illegal. But in the meantime, he knew he would bankrupt his estate trying to free them all, in rebellion of his father’s laws.

As he wandered through the market, his attention was drawn by a young man, who was being kept in a small cage! Concerned, the Prince wandered closer, and peered in at the man, who did not seem to be interested in his presence, instead hunching down and sulking, as the cage was not even tall enough for him to stand inside it. The young man was covered in dirt and grime from head to toe, and his hair was long and black and shaggy. He looked skinny, like he hadn’t had enough to eat, and frankly, he emitted a rather foul odor. But underneath all of that, the Prince could see that the young man was beautiful, and he knew that he wanted the young man to be his.

He called over one of the traders, a sniveling, sour man who wore too many rings. “You will answer for this,” Encke demanded. “Why is this man being kept in a cage, like an animal?”

The trader bowed in false apology. “He is not much more than that, My Lord,” he said snootily. “He was found living in the wilderness. He is not civilized at all.”

This made the Prince frown in displeasure. “What do you mean?” he asked, narrowing his eyes to encourage the trader to be truthful.

“He does not talk, he does not listen or even understand speech, he does not have any kind of manners or propriety, My Lord. You would not want one such as this in your house,” the trader scoffed. “He is probably dangerous. He is not good for anything, except perhaps to be a side attraction in a circus. And that is our plan for him,” he said.

It broke the Prince’s heart to think of this young man being laughed at, and spit at and ridiculed for entertainment. He knew he could never bear for such a thing to happen. So despite the predicament, he insisted on buying the young man and taking him home. He named him Cain, after the one who, according to the ancient legends, had been banished to the wilderness.


	2. Chapter 2

The first people the Prince summoned upon arriving back at the palace, were three extra guards, including the Captain, Keeler, for his own safety in case the trader’s warning about Cain’s behavior was true, and because the winds were blowing so fiercely that day, that carrying the cage inside was proving quite difficult.

Secondly, he summoned Porthos, the royal blacksmith, to cut the lock on the cage door, after finding he had left the market without procuring a key.

Third, he summoned a healer, and the royal bathers and hairdressers, to tend to Cain as they saw fit. Strangely enough Cain seemed very reluctant to come out of his cage, so the Prince sent to the kitchen for some food, thinking to use it as bait. However it was to no avail; Cain would not budge and the healer was forced to try and tend to him through the bars.

And then he summoned the Royal Interpreter, after Cain took issue with the spells the healer was using on him, and to everyone surprise, began shouting at the healer in some language that no one could understand. Silently the Prince cursed the trader, who had obviously failed to be truthful after all.

 

* * *

 

Abel had hardly any interest in the commotion that buzzed throughout the palace that day, except that it gave him an opportunity to sneak into the kitchen, and abscond with a sole sweet potato. Now of course, as the Prince’s favorite concubine, Abel was provided with any foods he could possibly imagine. This particular potato, however, was intended for a more mischievous purpose.

The blond casually made his way over to one of the small meditation rooms in the Prince’s private wing of the palace. Once inside, he turned the lock, and sat cross legged on the fancy rug on the floor, stolen sweet potato in hand.

Abel closed his eyes, and inhaled a deep, calming breath, trying to push out of his mind any anxiety of what might happen if he was caught doing non-healing magic, which was forbidden in the kingdom. The spell would probably take some concentration, since it had been a while since he’d last had an opportunity to practice.  He prepared the words in his mind, as he held the potato out like an offering.

“Joli—”

His spell was interrupted by a loud voice down the corridor. Abel opened only one eye, as if that would help him stay focused. Frowning, he closed his eye again and attempted the spell a second time.

“Jolinat oma —”

This time a ferocious shout stopped him short of finishing the incantation. Abel opened both of his eyes, pouting as he resolved to make sure that would be the end of the distractions. He tilted his head, listening intently for a few moments, before he was satisfied that it was over. Then he took in another calming breath, and closed his eyes once more.

“Jolinat oma vors— oh for gods’ sake!” Abel huffed, as he was interrupted a final time. He gave up, hiding the sweet potato away for the moment inside a vase, before he rushed out of the room to see what was the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abel was trying to say “to cook without flame” which I stole from Dothraki from Game of Thrones. The "spell language" will be a mixture of Dothraki and High Valyrian with some changes of my own to make things sound cooler.


	3. Chapter 3

Abel had heard that it was windy outside, but as he stepped into the crowded bedroom, he was amazed at how the gusts from outside were causing the tapestries on the wall to billow, and how loud the people in the room had to speak to be heard. He felt the wind blow through his hair, and found it surprisingly cold for summer weather.

“I am sorry, Your Highness, but we do not learn the _meaning_ of the spells,” Vicks the healer was explaining, amongst all of the mumbling onlookers. “Perhaps they were known long ago, but they have been lost over the generations. You know that our study of magic is limited, because of the law, m’lord. That is why we mostly use herbs.”

“And you do not study the languages of the spirits, Interpreter?” the Prince asked, obviously so cross he hadn’t noticed Abel come in the room.

“No, I’m sorry, my lord,” Ethos, the Royal Interpreter answered. “I have spent my life devoted to learning the languages of men, not spirits.”

“What is going on?” Abel asked over the roaring wind, and the room suddenly fell silent, and completely still. At hearing his voice, the man in the cage startled, and quickly pressed his face against the bars to look at him. Abel and the others watched curiously as the man’s eyes grew as wide as saucers, before he quickly crawled out of the open door of the cage and stood up, still gazing at the beautiful blond. Abel glanced over at the windows, and somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered... that there was something odd about the fact that they were closed.

“Your Highness... who is this?” Abel inquired, leaning awkwardly away as he studied the man’s filthy and disheveled appearance, even as the man stared at him in awe.

“This is Cain,” the Prince answered. “I saved him from the traders today.”

“Vorsakh-maihi!” Cain declared suddenly in spirit-language, and Abel only barely managed to keep himself from reacting to the accusation, of being a fire mage. Then the strange man began rattling off in some dialect Abel did not understand. It was obviously related to the flame-tongue he had learned, but the only words he could catch from all of Cain’s prattlings were “wind” and “fire”. _A wind mage,_ Abel thought to himself, and looked over at the Prince, genuine confusion threatening to pop his eyes out of his head.

“He speaks to you as if he knows you, as if you’d understand him,” the Prince observed with a furrowed brow.

Abel shook his head helplessly. “I… most certainly do not, my lord. It is gibberish to me,” he insisted, and was glad he did not have to lie. “What is all this about?”

“Cain was found in the wilderness by the slave traders. They neglected to inform me that he is quite a gifted wind mage. And he speaks some kind of spirit language, and nothing else,” Prince Encke explained gruffly.

“But how can that be?” Keeler, the Captain of the Guard spoke up. “Does that mean he is some sort of… spirit creature?”

Meanwhile, Abel watched nervously as Cain stepped a tad closer to him and gave him a long look up and down. Abel wasn't sure if it was Cain's powers, or just that feral, commanding look in his eyes, but the stranger had a nigh intoxicating presence.

“Not likely,” Vicks the healer remarked. “The idea of a spirit taking on the flesh of mortals, well I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Oh please, you don’t even know how to speak wind-spirit,” Phobos, the Royal Hairdresser groaned, as he leaned against the wall next to the blacksmith, looking and sounding bored as always.

“Let’s not get distracted from the task at hand,” the Prince said before Vicks could retort. “We need to bathe him and tend to him. But he wouldn’t even come out of the cage until he saw you, my sweet Abel. Perhaps, with you to distract him and keep him calm, then we can do what needs to be done,” he suggested.

Abel pondered as he studied the filthy young man. He wondered what the Prince had seen in him, though it was not like him to question Encke in front of others. He took an unsteady step closer to Cain, and then another, until they were face to face. They regarded each other for a moment, before Cain reached out, and with a fascinated look in his eye, touched a timid finger to Abel’s platinum locks. “Your Highness,” Abel said, trying not to breathe too much of the air in Cain’s immediate vicinity. “He is touching my hair,” he complained.

“Perhaps he is simply fascinated by Abel’s fair and radiant appearance,” Ethos suggested. “He might not be used to seeing people from the Far North.”

“Hmm, that is true,” the Prince said thoughtfully. “We will use that fascination to our advantage for now. Please endure for just a while, little one,” the Prince entreated. “For me.”

Abel sighed, knowing he could never say no to his well-meaning, but somewhat misguided Prince. He knew the truth, that Cain was attracted to the powerful magic that Abel had dormant inside him. Even the pretender herbalist Vicks was oblivious to it. But it was evident that Cain could even sense the spells that Abel used to turn his normally dirty blond hair, to shining, almost snow white. Resigning to the task, he allowed Cain to play with his hair and hold his hand, as the servants bathed him, and clothed him in fresh garments, and worked the tangles out of his hair, without further incident.

And Abel had to admit to himself, as Cain transformed before his eyes into a presentable, and handsome young man, that he didn't really mind holding his hand so much.


	4. Chapter 4

The process of getting Cain in a presentable state took all afternoon and into the evening. Abel was starving, and beginning to think longingly back to his hidden sweet potato, but when he tried to leave the room after the throng of attendants, Cain became suddenly agitated, and used his wind powers to slam the door in Abel’s face. Abel jumped a foot backwards and stared at the door, dumbfounded.

The guards were on him in a moment, but not before Abel heard him say something in his strange spirit-dialect. He couldn’t understand the words, but the fear and pleading in Cain’s voice, underneath a facade of strength, was universally recognizable.

“Wait!” Abel exclaimed as he turned around, looking the stranger in the eye, as Cain stood there, arms held fast by the guards Keeler and Praxis. The Prince himself stood not far away, hand clutching at the knife he always had hidden in his robes.

Cain looked at him with unyielding eyes, eyes that burned with intensity so that he might as well have been a fire mage himself. Abel knew what they did to mages, what the punishment was for practicing such arts. It was why he had allowed himself to be sold as a lowly concubine, that one day he might have the power to whisper in the Prince’s ear, and change the mind of a future King.

Wind and Fire. Not exactly opposite elements; a breath of air could put out a candle, or a gust of wind could stoke a mighty, destructive inferno. _The appearance of this stranger Cain might be the kindlings that ignite a change of heart throughout the kingdom,_ Abel thought to himself, _or just as easily he could be my undoing, and leave all of my plans in ashes._

“I will stay with him,” he declared. “Let him go.”

“Abel!” Keeler exclaimed, alarmed. “The Prince would never forgive me if I allowed you to be hurt!”

“He does not intend to harm me,” Abel insisted. “He is only frightened. I will stay with him for one night if it will help him feel at ease.” He saw the way the Prince was looking at him and quickly added, “On the divan of course!” pointing emphatically to a couch at the foot of the large bed, the oversized sleeve of his tunic flapping wildly in protest of Enke's unspoken accusation.

Praxis and Keeler quickly dismissed themselves, leaving the Prince, the concubine, and the stranger alone. Abel’s eyes shifted under the Prince’s stare, as the ebony-skinned ruler stood there, arms crossed, a finger ponderously tapping against his bicep. “Are you sure you’re alright staying here tonight?” he said at last.

“Your Highness, I assure you, I can handle myself,” Abel said confidently.

“Cain is a _mage_ , Abel! They are evil, and dangerous--”

Abel scoffed at Encke’s ignorance but did not dare speak of it. "Is it not your intention to help this man be more civilized, Your Highness? Should he not be given an opportunity to see the error of his ways and reform?" he said instead. “Besides, what is he going to do, anyway? Blow air on me?”

The Prince didn’t think that was funny at all. Both of them were smart enough to know wind mages were capable of much more than that. “I will post guards outside the door. Just in case,” he said sternly. “And I will have the servants bring the two of you some food.” Then he stepped forward, and kissed Abel forcefully, possessively, making Abel whimper with want before he pulled away. Abel just watched with wide eyes, blushing with the awkwardness, as Encke glared a warning at Cain that said the kiss had been for his benefit, and then glided out of the room. “Summon Deimos to spend the night in my quarters,” Abel heard him say to a servant as he closed the door. He just stared at the door for a few moments, letting his cheeks burn.

 

* * *

 

 

Abel did his best to be a good host, and make conversation with his guest over dinner, but he could really only understand every three or four words that the other mage said. Through a great deal of effort, they managed to find a list of words that were common between them, but even still, Abel had to speak quietly, so the guards wouldn’t hear him speaking in a language he wasn’t supposed to know.

  
When it was time for bed, Abel managed to make Cain understand that he was to change into a different set of clothes for sleeping, and blushing slightly, helped him with the laces of his pajama bottoms, as it seemed Cain had never been taught how to tie a bow. Then he tucked the stranger into the soft, warm bed, and went over to the divan, making sure that Cain could see he was only a few feet away. He changed into his own nightclothes under a blanket, and cuddled up to a very fluffy and soft pillow, that was still no substitute for the warmth of another man. But instead of missing his Prince, Abel found himself wondering whether or not their raven-haired guest would be a good snuggler, and what his freshly styled hair would feel like between his fingers, and what his lips might feel like against Abel's skin, as he drifted to sleep.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Cain stood still as a statue, watching as the wind wrought havoc on the city, listening as it whistled in through the tall window and made the wall breathe. A crack of lightning hit nearby, causing the building to quake, and the sleeping blond startled, finally pulled out of his deep slumber in the midst of the raging storm. Cain looked over at him, met his wide eyes as the fire mage held out a poised hand, ready to set fire to whoever or whatever had woken him up. He glanced out the window, and then back at Cain, a question in his frantic eyes.

"Mage-storm," he said gruffly, just loud enough to be heard over the wind and rain, articulate enough to be understood through the language barrier between them, before turning back to look out the window pensively.

"M... maega-vaz?" the blond repeated, his voice light and warm like an autumn breeze. Just then, something large was blown up against the wall with a loud bang, and Abel jumped, yelping and clutching his pillow, still not quite awake. Cain rushed over to him, seating himself beside the blond and putting an arm around him, letting Abel hold onto him tight. "Who... who is mage?" 

Cain didn't answer right away, taking a moment to breathe in the fragrance of Abel's hair, some delicious combination of honeysuckle and magic, as the other man snuggled himself underneath Cain's chin. "Matushka," he growled at last. "She is looking for me. But I will not let her find me. I will not let her hurt you," he said, his voice full of fury and grief, perhaps holding the blond a little too tight. Abel pulled out of his grasp and gave him a confused and worried look, and Cain had no idea how much of what he'd said the fire mage had understood. 

"How.. stop storm?" Abel tried, reaching out to hold Cain's hand. 

He frowned, thinking hard, listening to the wind. There was a way, but Abel probably wouldn't like it... "Two mages..." he pondered aloud, looking at the blond just as thoughtfully as he'd studied the storm outside, absent-mindedly pressing his lips together. Abel was a man, and Cain had never thought about doing such a thing with a man, but it wasn't unheard of, and frankly the idea made it hard to breathe, but in a good way. Abel gave Cain a suspicious look, not missing the intensity of his gaze. "Fuck-magic," he said, eyes widening almost apologetically.

"Hmm?" Abel leaned in, attentive, trying to understand.

Cain sighed. He had to find a way to say it that would make sense... he needed to use some firey words...  _"Passion_... ritual," he stammered.

"Oh," Abel said quietly, expression hardening somewhat.  _"Oh."_

Cain swallowed, watching as Abel processed the suggestion, his features melting from a somewhat surly glare, to something softer, vulnerable and interested, and then back to determined and resolute. He lifted up off the couch and threw on a nearby robe, the shimmering fabric billowing behind him as he tied a belt around his waist and rushed out of the room, leaving Cain alone.

"Well that went well..." Cain muttered to himself, hanging his head in his hands.

 

* * *

 

Abel was shaking with nerves as he made his way back to Cain's room. He felt ridiculous, lying to the guards, sneaking through the palace in the dark, in the middle of a deadly storm to retrieve a bottle of slick oil. But he'd made up his mind to do this thing, and so he might as well make it pleasurable in the process.

Cain had gone back to standing vigil at the window, failing to hear Abel return over the noise of the wind. "I am here," he said, approaching and lightly touching the stranger on the shoulder, and Cain spun around fast, eyes full of surprise. 

Abel didn't know much about 'passion rituals' as Cain had called them. He knew that their effects largely had to do with the mood, and the position the two mages performed it in... but some rituals required special props to be used, or candles or other such things. He held the bottle of oil up for Cain to see, gesturing at it to show Cain that it was the reason for his short absence. "Alright, what must we do? How is the passion ritual performed?" he asked, and Cain just gave him a nervous look and shrugged emphatically.  "What?!" Abel exclaimed. "You mean you've never done this before?" 

Cain just shrugged again, looking a bit defeated. "Only theories," he answered. "Whispers."

Abel frowned, trying to understand. "Whispers? Whispers from who?" 

The other mage gestured defensively outside. "Wind. Learn from wind."

Abel glanced out the window, watching for a moment as the wind tossed the rain sideways and into whirling flurries. "Well what does the wind say?" he asked, just a little annoyed. 

Cain scratched at his hair, thinking for a moment, the way he did when he was trying to stitch together words that Abel would understand. "Cannot stop storm," he said. "Must... become storm."

"Become... storm," Abel repeated, nodding slightly in disbelief.

Something in Cain's expression changed, brightening, like he'd just figured something out. "Then, storm cannot hurt you!" he declared.

"What... what does that m--" Abel's question was interrupted as Cain rushed forward and grabbed him, crashing their mouths together in what was clearly an attempt to emulate what he'd seen the Prince do to Abel earlier, except with a lot more teeth than was really required. Abel whined with how it hurt and flinched away from him, not keen at all on having marks left on him for Prince Encke to find. Cain glared down at him, a look in his eyes that was both threatened and threatening, hunter and hunted, a look that Abel had become quite familiar with in the few hours since they'd met. 

It took just a second more for Abel to realize that Cain was just acting out his epiphany, that the two of them would have to become a storm, in order to defeat the storm. Something ignited inside him and he threw the bottle on the mattress and grabbed Cain by the nightshirt, pushing him towards the bed even as he pulled their mouths together for another bruising kiss. The stranger fell against the edge of the bed, staring up at Abel, startled by his forceful display, and he leaned down and sneered at him, to make sure he got his point across. _"No_ biting," he growled, and reached down to unlace the tie of the pajamas he'd helped Cain don earlier. He could feel it, could feel something stirring inside him that was more than just arousal, something that was akin to power... primal, carnal magic that required them to be naked and fast.

The other mage soon got the hint, and began helping Abel out of his own clothes, until the two of them were kissing passionately, pressing their naked bodies together, hands everywhere. Another bright flash of lightning lit up the room, the loud crash echoing forever and making Abel flinch in Cain's arms, but Cain just ignored it, lifting him up and tossing him onto the bed. Cain followed after and covered Abel with his body, pressed his warm mouth to Abel's neck, and Abel closed his eyes and swore that the wind heaved harder against the palace every time Cain breathed into his ear.

Running a messy tongue over his pulse, Cain lifted one of Abel's legs, encouraging him to press his knee to his chest, hand wandering down the underside of his thigh to squeeze his ass. Then he moved himself on top of Abel, lifting his other leg and hoisting them around his waist. Abel realized what he meant to do and slapped his hands against his chest, a clear and unspoken warning.

Grabbing for the bottle of oil, Abel shoved it into his chest, but Cain just stared at him in confusion. "Oil. Use it," he said sternly.

"What?" Cain replied.

Abel huffed in frustration and took control, using all of his strength to flip Cain over on his back and pin him there before he did something stupid. Another surge of power flowed through him with the display of dominance, and Abel felt smoke blow out of his nostrils as he leaned over Cain and glared. He could see the stranger's chest rise and fall in the darkness, labored with arousal or maybe just the instinct to fight back, and the storm outside grew all the louder for it. It seemed they were going to make it worse before they made it better. Abel poured some of the oil into his hand and quickly prepared the two of them, fearing they wouldn't finish it before the whole city blew away.

When that was done, he just did what seemed natural for the moment, clambering off of Cain and kneeling away from him, leaning down on his hands so his ass lifted up in the air. He looked back and beckoned with his eyes, and Cain sat up and knelt behind him, fingers digging into Abel's shoulder as he pushed in. He pressed up against his back so Abel could hear him breathing, gasping as Abel moved against him to take more of him in, grunting as he shifted experimentally and felt something that he liked, chuckling as his more confident movements made Abel moan.

Soon they were fucking with abandon, swaying like the wind was blowing them violently like two trees, with Cain leaning over Abel protectively as he moved into him with deep thrusts. Abel cried out and reached behind and grabbed at him to pull him closer, deeper, digging in with his nails. His skin was burning like it was on fire, different than when he was with the Prince, something wild and electric and supernatural and too much. He bent down to hide his face in the sheets, as if that would help him brace against the sensation, as if he actually wanted it to lessen at all. With the changed angle, Cain went deeper, hitting just the right spot, and with just a few more thrusts Abel came apart, his whole body quaking with it as he came and brought Cain over with him, and as Cain went still, the air went still, leaving them there panting in deafening silence.

"We did it," Abel whispered between gasps for air, listening intensely, expecting the storm to return at any moment. "We did it!" he exclaimed when he was satisfied that was not the case, turning around and throwing his arms around the other man, but not before catching Cain's bright and toothy grin. He laughed as Cain said something in his strange wind language and started peppering Abel's ear and neck and shoulder with celebratory kisses.

They had just toppled over on their sides with the effort when the door suddenly burst open.

"Abel! Are you al--" the Prince started, and Abel found himself instinctively moving as far away as he could from Cain and covering himself up with a blanket, putting a barrier in between him and the stranger like he was a plague. His heart nearly stopped at the sight of the Prince's face, clearly horrified and heartbroken even in the dark room. The concubine Deimos slinked in behind him, graceful in a vicious kind of way. He took one look at the situation and gave a quiet, sanctimonious "Tch!" in response.

Abel mustered up the decency to steal a quick, apologetic glance at his bedmate, and found him still smirking, eyes hopeful, completely oblivious to just how much trouble they were in.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been discontinued. Thanks for reading though :)


End file.
